Epilogophilia: The Black Widow
by L.M.Lewis
Summary: They have more in common than they realized.


Disclaimer: The characters are not mine and I make no profit from them.

Rated: K

**Author's Note:** You may notice that we skipped a few episodes on our first trip through season one. The omissions are being addressed in Epilogophilia 2.0 ;-)

**The Black Widow**

epilogue by L.M.Lewis

_Hardcastle has a file on a woman named Tina Grey, 'known associate' of several deceased mob figures. He's working on the connection between her and the deaths. Mark, seeing Grey's picture, nobly volunteers himself for the undercover operation, despite the judge's cautions that 'people wind up dead around her'._

_Mark works his way into Ms. Grey's life, falling for her completely, and ticking off her current boyfriend, mobster Joe Beiber. Meanwhile Grey, and Don Filapiano, the crooked police captain who is using her as an informant, set Mark up to be their latest patsy. (Hardcastle and Filapiano have some history—the judge believes the captain shot an innocent boy, years earlier.)_

_Mark has one foot in the grave (having been ordered to dig his own by the mobster's goons) by the time The Long Ranger rides up to the rescue. In the end, Beiber's gang is under arrest, and Grey and Filapiano's shady deal has come to light._

_00000 _

McCormick had kept his mouth shut most of the way home, in fact, the judge thought he'd been a little quiet right along, since his near-death experience at the hands of Joe Beiber's thugs. The kid might be feeling a certain amount of chagrin as well, Hardcastle figured, at being so thoroughly taken in by Tina Grey.

The judge thought he, himself, ought to be getting a little more personal satisfaction out of being right about Ms. Grey. He was pretty sure he would, too, once he had a little space between that, and what had almost happened. And how had Filapiano figured it all out?—that taking McCormick down would be the best way to wreak revenge on the judge who'd been a thorn in his side.

_Is it that obvious?_

He kept his eyes straight ahead, half-wondering if McCormick had figured it out, too. _Not buddies._ _It's just that you're responsible for him, that's all._

_That's not what you said to Filapiano. 'That kid means something to me.'_

_What, though?_

He'd been camped out in the gatehouse for a month and a half, now, underfoot, smart mouthed, occasionally irresponsible . . . _and absolutely reliable, when the hammer comes down._

About that, Hardcastle had no doubt, though he wasn't sure exactly when the notion had first occurred to him. Maybe it had been while he was standing on the carpet in Lieutenant Carlton's office, trying to confess to the break-in at the police impound, only to have his thunder stolen by someone who had far more to lose than he did by confessing. Or it might have been the night before that, when he'd found the guy down in the garage, apparently knowing, even before he knew himself, that they'd have to do whatever it took to get the papers that would save an innocent man's life.

But he thought it had really been right from the start, six week ago, when he'd first heard why the kid had gone after the Coyote. That had been utterly senseless—loyalty bordering on insanity. A natural-born Tonto. Hardcastle shook his head slightly at the thought. McCormick cut him a sharp sideward glance but still said nothing.

00000

Mark thought the guy ought to be riding him a little harder, all things considered. Hardcastle had been right, from the get-go, about Tina Grey. _And you were a sap, falling for her whole story, hook, line, and sinker._ Instead, he'd have to say that the judge had been almost solicitous since his last-minute rescue out in the desert. And that was pretty amazing in and of itself.

Mark shifted in his seat a little uncomfortably, aware that he'd gotten a quick turn of the judge's head, but now keeping his own eyes fixed on the road ahead. _Well, he did show up in the nick of time today._

That had been pretty amazing, too, though somehow not surprising. Lt. Carlton had taken him aside, back at the station, and filled him in on the details—how he and Hardcase had good cop/bad copped one of Beiber's men into 'fessing up. _Now you know __that's__ not how the system is supposed to work._

Still he wasn't all that surprised. Hardcase might be a stone cold, hay-bearing jackass, but he knew how to get the job done. That was the one thing that could be relied on. He supposed he'd already figured that out a while back. Maybe that night when the judge had put it all on the line to break into the impound area to retrieve the papers that would save Father Atia's life.

No, he must've already known it before then—hadn't he been waiting down in the garage for Hardcastle to make up his mind on that one?

So, maybe it was right from the start—when the old donkey had sat there and taken a chewing-out in his own chambers—_God help us, you had a lot of gall. _And instead of just chucking him back into San Quentin—if only for nothing more than a multitude of parole violations, and a smart mouth—he'd gone and pulled the records on Cody.

_Him a big industrialist, and you, what? Nobody . . . a parolee. But he __listened._

_And then he bent the law into a pretzel to keep you from getting sent back up. Just like he'd bent all the rules for Teddy, and to save Joe Cadillac's son, and now for you again._

_Utterly reliable._

It was crazy—a dedication to fixing things that went way beyond his loyalty to the system he was always braying on about. _Justice, no matter what the cost. The Lone Ranger rides._

Mark let a smile slip at the thought, and then became aware that the judge's quick look had become a more studied stare. It didn't matter; they were at the drive to the estate, pulling in. _Almost home._ He twitched again, just slightly, at the notion that it was that, that he felt somehow _settled_, as though he belonged.

Hardcastle was still looking at him as he started to climb out of the car. Mark let his smile become a grin, still saying nothing, but knowing full well that it was annoying the older man some.

"Thanks," he finally said.

Hardcastle frowned slightly, as though he suspected a trick. "What for?"

Mark made a vague gesture and then said, "Ah, you know, the jaws of death and all that."

"Oh, _that_," the judge was waving it away with a gesture of his own, equally vague, stepping back onto more comfortable ground. "Couldn't let you wind up out there in the desert, not when you finally got the hang of how to use the hedge clippers. Waste of good training."

"Lord, no, couldn't let that happen." McCormick laughed. "Valuable skills like that. My future is assured."

"Yeah," Hardcastle fell into the patter with apparent ease as they walked up to the front steps, "as long as you don't let some pretty face distract you. Can't judge a book by its cover."

"Nope," Mark's grin went back to a more sober smile. "Not even by the first chapter. And you," he paused, then shifted gears again, "will never get a job as a butler. Too much temper."

The judge snorted as he unlocked the front door. "I think maybe you shouldn't be reminding me about that. And you've still got a lot of dishes to do." He opened the door and pointed toward the kitchen.

"Well," Mark sighed, "beats shoveling."


End file.
